


Odtrutka

by CosmicOcelot



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, M/M, alternatively titled: Geralt and the Too Many Potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29894478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicOcelot/pseuds/CosmicOcelot
Summary: By the time he realizes he shouldn’t have taken the third potion, it’s already too late.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 190





	Odtrutka

By the time he realizes he shouldn’t have taken the third potion, it’s already too late.

The rest of the fight passes in a blur of flesh and silver, blood that isn’t his own soaking into the dirt to the sounds of roars torn from the back of his throat. And soon he is standing, panting harshly, more snarl than breath, and staring down at the dead and desiccating corpse of the thing that tried to steal his life. He barely remembers to sever the head for proof of payment – freeing it from its neck with his hands rather than his blade. He clenches it tightly in his fist, fingers and nails digging into the flesh of it, as he makes his way back; fighting the urge to tip his head back and howl.

It doesn’t take him long to get there, his feet as fast as they are silent, and soon he can hear a familiar voice drifting through the air towards him. Nonsense words that his mind can’t understand in this state, and a distant part of him is pushing him to pause somewhere – to put his head between his legs and breath or to pull the vial of White Honey from his bag and release himself from this state immediately. It’s overwhelmed by the desire to return, to display the evidence of his victory – to show what his hands and teeth will do to those that threaten he and his.

He pushes through the underbrush, a soft whinny greeting his return, and that voice stops as cornflower blue eyes meet his own pitch-black ones.

“Geralt?”

He grunts, low and guttural, before raising the thing’s head to display it proudly, waiting for approval.

“Ah, what a lovely... head? That you’ve got there.” The scent of ink and paper threaded through with lavender grows closer as those eyes draw nearer to him. “Very impressive. For now, though, how about we put the head down and – ”

He drops the head, eyes never leaving those blue ones.

“Wonderful, now,” he feels hands cup either side of his face, concern in those eyes, “do you think you could tell me what’s – what’s going on? I mean, gods, can you even – can you hear me, Geralt?”

And that’s not... right. There shouldn’t be concern in those eyes, but pride to match his own, and for a moment he thinks he might pull back from him – might have found his display lacking and decided to seek out another. He can feel a growl gathering in the back of his throat at the thought, itching to reach forward and grab the man’s hips –

But something buried deep beneath inky black lines and the mixtures made of magic and monsters thrumming through his veins holds him in place, before taking control of his tongue.  
  
“Yes.”

Relief crashes over the man’s – over _Jaskier’s_ face, and he lets out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “Oh, thank the gods, I – ” he cuts himself off with a slight shake of his head before raising his eyes to meet Geralt’s. “What do you need?”

The thing that is nothing more than instinct needs him to tip his neck to the side, to allow him to press his nose to the source of his scent, to shiver as he scrapes his teeth along the side of his neck and –

“Stay.”

Jaskier hesitates for a moment more, clearly wondering whether to press for more, before giving a slight nod. “Okay.”

He takes his hands from Geralt’s face, and the thing immediately wraps its hands around Jaskier, holding him in place, and though Jaskier jumps slightly in surprise, there’s no sudden acrid taste of fear in his scent at the movement.

“I wasn’t leaving,” Jaskier says softly, “I just wasn’t sure if you...” He trails off uncertainly, shifting his hands gingerly, carefully until they’re wrapped around Geralt as well, holding him just as close. “Is this... okay? I can let go if you’d like – ”

Geralt tightens his grip, dropping his head to the crook of Jaskier’s neck and taking deep, steady breaths.

“Alright. Message received.” Jaskier’s words are chased by a small laugh as he starts to gently stroke his fingers through Geralt’s hair. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

And he doesn’t – the two of them standing there for what feels like hours as Geralt breaths in his scent over and over again until the pounding on his heart recedes and he can hear Jaskier’s instead. Until the black lines recede from his face and eyes and the desire to keep Jaskier close turns from a desperate need into something... more manageable.

And yet he doesn’t let go.

“Jaskier.”

“Oh,” Jaskier pulls back slightly but keeps his arms wrapped around him, meeting Geralt’s gaze with his own, “back with us then?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier laughs. “There’s our white wolf.” He hesitates for a moment, before asking the question that Geralt can practically hear buzzing away in his mind. “Do you – do you think you could tell me what happened?”

“Too many potions,” Geralt mutters, forcing his hands to leave Jaskier and ignoring how empty and cold his arms feel without the bard encompassed within them. He steps away from Jaskier, picking up the head from where he had dropped it and walking over to affix it to Roach’s saddle. “Won’t happen again.”

“Ah, well,” Jaskier puts his ink and parchment back into his pack before joining Geralt by Roach with it slung over his shoulder, “glad I was able to help.”

Geralt doesn't respond, all the words that he might have said stuck behind the lump in his throat. He just takes Roach’s reins and begins to lead her back to the village that had posted the contract. And if he closes his eyes and listens to Jaskier’s never ending chatter as they walk, all the while slowly breathing in and out the scent of lavender, paper and ink, well, no one but him need know.


End file.
